Ebony and Ivory
by Sassy SOBettes
Summary: She doesn�t feel the holiday spirit. There�s nothing to be thankful for, and the world is cruel. Then, by chance, she stumbles across a piano; hence the music is made. The song of the siren lures Oliver Wood unwillingly, and things that w


A/N: Hullo! This is the rather story of Persephone and Oliver. They don't call me Angst Queen for nothing, eh? ^_^

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't sue.

_~Ebony and Ivory~_

_ The story of Persephone and Oliver_

In the holiday spirit. How she detested that one sentence. Holiday spirit? Where? She was sorry to say, she had none. She didn't care about the fact that she hated Christmas. She didn't see the point, really. What was there to celebrate? 

_You don't care about the fact that you're never happy around Christmas?_

Slamming her books down onto the desk, she sat down, biting her lip, letting her shoulders sag in defeat. Happy. It was such a simple word, yet it held so much meaning. She'd give all the gold in the world to the person who could describe happiness perfectly. Money wasn't happiness. Fame wasn't happiness. She had friends, the most wonderful ones, yet she wasn't always happy. What was that empty feeling in the pit of her stomach? Perhaps anger. No one much understood her. She was quiet; that was all. Her fingers tracing the edge of the desk nonchalantly, she remembered the words her mother had once spoken with a confused frown.

'_Love is happiness.'_ Was it? She doubted it. If love indeed was happiness, and if love was so wonderful, why didn't she have a father? Why did she and her mother live alone? If he had loved her, and if they were happy, why had he left them? 

" Persephone?" Looking up, abandoning her morose thoughts, she saw Fallon looking down at her, face full of concern. 

" Hullo." She muttered monotonously, picking up her books again. Seeing Fallon purse her lips, Persephone tried to shoot her a smile—a weak one. But it was too late. Already there were tears in her dark, catlike eyes.

" _Oh, Persephone…_" Fallon whispered exasperatedly, knowing exactly what she was thinking of. But Persephone merely waved her away, telling her she was fine. She needed to run.

Rushing out of the library, she turned the corner sharply and took a deep breath, letting only a few tears drop on her cheeks. _Slytherins didn't cry._ So she walked on. Walked, without thinking, walked without seeing, and now, as she stared at the corridor of doors, she felt that that had been a stupid thing to do. She was lost. Slowing her pace, looking tentatively about, she walked further down, looking for something that looked familiar. The doors that she passed all looked the same, with the same brass doorknob. Oh, and it seemed to stretch forever. Whether that forever was a mere minute or it was really hours and hours, she didn't know. During the moment, lets say, that she walked down the corridor, she lost any sense of time. And time lost meaning. 

Then, she halted, for the corridor had ended. And at the end, there was a tall door with a silver doorknob, shining enticingly, inviting her in. _Come in._

Reaching out for the handle, she grabbed the doorknob's cool surface, and turned, thus creaking the door open. An almost blinding white light filled her vision as she stepped into the luminous and strange room that she did not recognize. There was a large window in the back, showing the glittering snow falling onto the barren ground. The walls were a brilliant white, matching the snow. 

The room seemed to glow, in a way, and gave her chills in a way she thought was not possible. Ineffable, the whole situation was. It was like that feeling you got when you had a mug of hot cocoa right after being out in the cold. That warm, tingly feeling all over your body—the ones that went right down to your toes.

Yet that was not what was special about this room. For in the center stood the most beautiful and magnificent piano she had ever seen, shining, sparkling in all its wonderful glory. 

_Play me._

And the treacherously beautiful instrument begged her to play. Her fingers suddenly ached to touch the cool keys, to hear that wonderful rich tone. But she hadn't played for so long! 

_No one's listening, child._

Eyes wide and sparkling as if she were a child seeing the world for the first time, she stepped closer the beauty. Sitting down on the bench, she stretched her fingers, licked her lips nervously… and began to play her worries away. 

~*~

They had lost. Bloody lost the bloody game to Hufflepuff. It really wasn't Harry's fault. 

And that thought didn't make him feel better. Growling, he slammed his fist against the wall. Trying to calm his immense anger, he stepped out of the shower stall and got dressed. Maybe a walk would do him some good. The halls were empty, everyone still either at the Quidditch pitch or in the hospital wing, worried looks upon their faces as they tried to get a peek at Harry.

So he walked alone, sighing every 5 minutes, thinking of their horribly played game, and oh, damn those dementors! Rubbing his forehead, wishing his mind would go blank so he didn't have that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he sat down against the wall, basking in the silence. Ah, the silence. How wonderful yet terrible it was.

But quite soon, the silence had left, and in its place, there was music. A distant, rich music that sounded so eerie and intriguing, yet so _beautiful_. Luring, like the tune of a siren. 

His mouth hung open slightly as he got up; he was drawn to it like a moth to the flame. He walked toward the sound, relying only on his ears, and they led him rightly. Soon he found himself before a great door, whence the music flowed. 

Without hesitation, he gently pushed the door open with merely the lightest brush of his fingertips, and let the magic set in. 

The room was white, glowing, and cold. He could see his breath from where he stood, and he was chilled to the bone—at least, he _should_ have been. But the music, _oh the music_. Was there anything quite was beautiful as it? Like a delicate butterfly fluttering about, or the water's soft rushing in a stream. 

Looking about the room, he felt his eyes widen as he saw who sat at the bench, her long fingers caressing the smooth keys. A small girl with raven black hair. He took a step further; taking care not to make a sound, for he now firmly believed that everything good about this moment would shatter if she stopped. Shatter like pieces of fragile glass.

_Beautiful._

Standing over her hunched over form, he let the delicate piece take him over, more so every moment that passed. And it was sad. With mere notes of a song, he could understand everything it emanated, bitterness, war, or just simple tears.

_Beautiful._

And with a final, mournful—yet glorious note, the song ended, leaving them in silence, her fingers slowly lifting from the keys. Feeling that clapping would not be fit for the solemn and unexplainable moment, he only murmured one thing. 

'_Beautiful_.' With a sharp clatter, the bench fell backward as she stood up, eyes wild. He stepped back reflexively, almost regretting his words. Her dark eyes glared at him, challenging him to say any more, and they stayed that way, colder than the ice that was outside. 

He would go. And that would be that. He coughed, then turned on his heel to go. He felt regret now that he was leaving this strange yet magical room. He had wanted to keep that ineffable feeling.

' Chopin's Nocturne no. 20 in C-sharp minor, opus posthumous.' Her quiet voice cut in through the air. He stopped. And turned around with the smallest of smiles on his face. Her voice was soft and light—yet it was troubled.

'I see…' She did not move. Taking that as a sign of acceptance, he walked back in the door. He picked up the fallen piano bench, then waited for her to sit down. 

' You play well.' He commented lamely, feeling his cheeks turn slightly red. Thankfully, she did not giggle as most girls would have, but merely stared at him in an odd way, as if trying to figure out who he was. Trying to calculate him.

' I know you.' She said softly, suddenly. 

' You're Oliver Wood, Gryffindor Quidditch captain.' Giving her a quick smile, he nodded. 

" I've never seen you around, though.' He commented lightly, insinuating something far more dangerous. _Who are you? _There was something oddly sad and melancholy about this girl, like the music that she had played. And simply being near her presence made one morose, in a way. Made one's heart feel heavy. 

' I'm quiet.' She replied simply, though those two words held more meaning than it seemed, he was sure. 

'Oh.' He stayed quiet, for he did not want to ruin the moment by going through the usual rigmarole of how one usually got to know one another. 

She looked up at him slowly, letting her dark blanket of hair fall away, and all traces of a glare were gone. Her lips were open slightly, trembling ever so slightly. She looked like a lost child, her eyes big and bright, shining with mysterious, hidden emotions. __

She had haunted eyes that knew far more than they let on. And he felt her pain, in a way. Knew that she was troubled, because he saw it. 

_Comfort._

Tears fell down her pale cheeks, and onto her lips. 

'_Shh…'_ Then, a flash.

Bending low, he kissed her. 

_A simple kiss. A blinding kiss. A sweet kiss. A bitter kiss._

And for a moment, her troubles were gone, and she understood. She understood all that needed to be understood, and she smiled. Christmas was near. 

_Love is happiness. _

A/N: R/R, especially if you're a SOBette, and tell me what you think! ^_^


End file.
